


Monstrous?

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Psychotically Protective Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Which one of them is the monster?





	Monstrous?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kribban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kribban/gifts).



> I asked for prompts yesterday, kribban gave me this one; Sam and Dean are in a dangerous situation with several other people. The threat is NOT supernatural. I don't know quite where this came from, must be the fact I was awake at 3am O.o Unbeta'd.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

The alarms sound and Sam spins, automatically assuming they’ve finally been caught for all their years of criminal activity, but there are no armed police training rifles on them.

There’s just a guy.

A guy with harrowed eyes and sallow cheeks, waving a handgun at a girl behind a counter who’s quite clearly petrified.

Dean continues to swear under his breath whilst slowly creeping forward, ignoring the security guard who’s desperately trying to call for help on a radio that’s probably never been used, let alone for something like this.

“Dean, no. He’s human, we can’t - “

“Fuck that, Sammy, he’s armed. We just gonna sit here and - “

It only takes a moment, a split second of indecision, and Sam’s looking at the floor through an inch wide hole full of ragged gristle that _used_ to be Dean’s shoulder. “ **Dean**.”

“ _Sammy?_ ”

“N-n-nobody move!”

Sam hits the floor, ignores the babbling shooter and crawls hand over hand towards his brother who’s already losing colour in his cheeks, and slams his jacket against the spasming hole. “Hold on, just, hold on, ‘kay Dean?”

Dean’s teeth are chattering, knocking together so fast he thinks he’ll lose the filling he’s been nursing for the last two months, and he feels _cold_. Cold is bad, cold is way past bad it’s fucking terrifying. “Sa-Sa-Sammy. I’m c-c-cold.”

Sam doesn’t acknowledge the statement, doesn’t tear his eyes from the blood that’s rapidly saturating his jacket, simply grinds his teeth and nods.

There’s a loud crash behind him and Sam _feels_ the shutters slamming closed around the building.

Someone’s clearly tripped the emergency switches, but for now the only thing he cares about is Dean’s arms and legs which are twitching in a macabre dance, slapping against the floor, beating out an erratic rhythm that matches Sam’s heart rate as he peels his over shirt off and adds that to the growing pile of blood soaked clothing covering his brother's shoulder.

“Wh-who did th-that? No. NO. I just needed, I j-j-just wanted - “

Not lifting his head, not tearing his eyes from Dean’s face, Sam raises an arm and points at the security guard who’s still in his own state of shock. “You, here, **now**.”

The guard’s eyes flick towards the guy still waving a gun and stammering about this not being the way it was meant to go, and he’s caught between training and terror.

Sam hisses and clicks his fingers. “Ignore him. Get _over_ here.”

There’s something in Sam’s voice that must trigger the security guard’s instincts because he’s suddenly crouching next to the two men huddled on the floor. One bleeding badly, the other trying to scrub said blood from his hands.

“Keep pressure. Hold it here. Don’t let go.”

Dean tries to reach out and grip Sam’s arm but his hands are clammy, slicked with sweat and shaking. “Sammy, n-n-no. Don’t.”

Sam stands, stares down at Dean who’s begging him with his eyes not to do anything stupid, but intelligent thought fled the building the same time metal ripped through flesh. “Won’t be a moment.”

The quiet calm in Sam’s voice scares the holy hell out of Dean but unless he finds a well of superhuman strength, all he can do now is watch from an odd angle on the floor through the dancing multi-coloured dots clouding his vision.

It only takes a moment, a split second of indecision, and Dean’s looking at the bottoms of two twitching boots as Sam grinds the heel of his shoe into the shooter’s face. “ **Sammy!** ”

The wet sound of leather being repeatedly embedded in ribs which are already no longer capable of holding the man’s chest cavity open, make Dean want to vomit and it takes all of his strength to shout his brother’s name over the ringing in his ears. “SAM. Stop!”

The moment Sam comes back to himself is clear to everyone in the room, to those people who were minutes ago terrified of a man with a gun and are now looking at the _hero_ of the hour with a sense of fear reserved for serial killers and horror movie maniacs.

“Dean?”

*********

Sam stands over Dean’s hospital bed, eyes fixed on the bandages covering his brother’s shoulder. “I’m a monster.”

Dean reaches out with his uninjured arm, grips Sam’s fingers and squeezes hard enough to grind bone. “You’re my monster.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong, either.”


End file.
